The Girl Who Cried Wolfe
by greeneyedkc
Summary: As a medical examiner, Keeva Wolfe is used to death. But recently her life has become a mess, and the skeletons in her closet have started breaking out. Her rocky relationship with the lead detective has forced her to seek help elsewhere to solve her case before more bodies end up in her freezer. Will The Team be able to stop the murderer? Morgan/OC
1. Chapter 1

_No One Puts Baby in a Coffin_

"Not again," he muttered, as I chased him, our steps echoing in the stairwell. His grey suit was wrinkled from sitting too long, his movements slow. I imagined Detective Ramos' shift was almost done, his distinct coffee and cologne scent suggesting a day spent at his desk or in a courtroom instead of on the street. The ink stain on his left hand only corroborating my theory. I tried to ignore the gold glint and the sharp pang it gave me. Instead, I thought about tiny coffins-not really an improvement, but far more on point. He had as much paperwork to do as I had bodies, which happened to be more than either of us cared to think about.

"Yes, again," I shot back, catching up to him and thrusting the pictures in his face, the same images that had become regular features in my nightmares. It was fright night, every night: 2am, my bedroom. Like a damned indie cinema had taken over my sleep.

Blood splattered butterfly shirts and dirt stained miniature Chuck Taylors, worse than anything Freddy Krueger's writers could dream up. Their faces-pigtails and freckles, tiny primary colored glasses and dead eyes-the reasons behind the midnight-shaded bruises under my own.

"I've seen the pictures, Kee," he sighed, turning around to stare me down, his use of my nickname only bothering me slightly. I resisted the urge to roll my shoulders. His caramel eyes crinkled in concern and brunette hair messy from a day's worth of stress, "You know that I know that these are just accidents."

His voice was weary, the death of a child was not easy on anyone-no matter the perceived circumstances. But I just shook my head, trying to get his tousled hair and tired eyes out of my head. I needed to stay focused on the children: _Jessica Starn, Lily Huang, Valerie Peralta, Bridget McConnell, Angela Jeffreys, Emma Bailey._ He interrupted my descent down the rabbit hole, again.

"You're just trying to make sense of something that doesn't make sense," his voice quieter than before, like he knew what I was doing, "It sucks, I'm sorry."

As a doctor in a morgue, I could tell him that these kinds of things don't just happen. That a spike in children's deaths, even accidental, is not normal. That six bodies in four months of girls all in the same age group just didn't sit right. That I had looked into the statistics, if he would just get past the fact that they were all different races and different causes of death, then look at my notes he would realize that I did my research. He would see the pattern. But, I was done fighting. I had tried to get everyone to see two bodies ago. And now, I had two more children lying in my freezer. This was not about us. I started my list again.

"Fine," I turned away from him. I would not let him see me cry, Ramos would think that he had finally broken through. I calmly walked back down the steps, the red brick of the walls blurring into one solid color. A gentle hand on my shoulder stopped me from taking the last steps to my cold basement domain.

"Keeva," he said quietly, his wedding band cutting me more than I cared to admit.

"Ben," I warned him, not turning around, "just let me go."

Those four words hung in the air, sucking the atmosphere out of the stairwell. Would life as we know it survive without the oxygen? Neither of us said anything and when he finally did let me go, conserving what little we had left. I bit down hard on my cheek and kept on walking. His eyes burned holes into my back, but I could still feel the gold of his ring through my lab coat.


	2. Chapter 2

_Adult (noun) - A Mess of Sadness and Phobias_

Surrounded by chrome and cold, I finally felt the atmosphere rush back. The gravity returned to normal, yet the weight of our conversation still felt too heavy to carry. When would I finally be able to put the baggage down? I had thought I was over Ben, but even after six months the shock and anger still hit me harder than I cared to admit.

Instead of dwelling on the conversation and on Ramos, I started my next report. A middle aged man had died on the table during surgery. My recorded voice would have to drown out the one in my head. I was neck deep in the man's body cavity when it struck me-the steady tapping of my shorthand notation stopped. There was still one option yet to be explored. I was giddy with anticipation for the end of the day.

As I sent off my final report, I noticed a hulking lab coat out of the corner of my eye. It demanded my attention, but I had better things to do.

"Dr. Wolfe," his emotionless voice, usually a calming presence in the morgue, irritated me.

"Dr. Copeland," I tried to sound just as cool, but the end result was bitchy. I powered off my desk computer and continued, "I'm just on my way out the door."

"Dr. Wolfe," he said again, his deep baritone voice only hinting at impatience. He would wait for me to look at him.

"Yes," I finally directed my attention at my boss. His face was impassive, his dark brown eyes almost black under the phosphorescent light. The white of his lab coat contrasted handsomely against his dark skin. He wasn't particularly good looking, but he had a way about him that made him attractive. The crags on his face providing conversation topics and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes suggesting an easy smile.

"You don't want to hear me tell you, again-"

"You're right, I don't," I interrupted.

"About my thoughts," he continued as if I never said anything, "on your obsessive attitude towards the children's deaths recently." He paused briefly, staring me down in challenge.

"It's just-"

"I think you're avoiding things," he might be the Chief Medical Examiner and a hard ass if he wanted to be (especially when new laboratory equipment was needed), but he could also be quite the Papa Bear, "and I...we all appreciated having you here part time, you're an amazing addition to our team. But when you're ready, I know that you'll make a great diagnostician. It's okay to feel comfortable here," he gestured to the morgue.

"I…" the truth was, I didn't know what to say. Dr. Copeland was right, in a way. I was avoiding things. I had an amazing job waiting for me across the country, my dream job. But the thought of leaving San Francisco was unbelievably scary. I had a good thing here working at the morgue part time while still on rotation. Most of my co-workers couldn't understand how I had enjoyed moonlighting in pathology, but I had and it had been an amazing learning experience. However, I had to believe that the scariness of moving was not why I kept putting off leaving.

"I know." I finished lamely.

"Just give me two weeks when you figure out when you're ready to go," he finished with a small, kind smile before he turned away. I watched him go.


	3. Chapter 3

_One Foot (In Front of the Other)_

The fog was just starting to roll in again for the evening. The air was chilly, but the natural breeze felt nice after the past few hours of overly air conditioned antiseptic. Before I let myself think about food or friends (or sweats), I fished my phone out of my bag through old receipts and used gum wrappers.

I ignored other notifications on my screen-I just needed to call him, my last option. Derek Morgan. I found his name on my contact list and prayed to the phone gods that his number was still the same. We tried to stay in touch, but an entire country and busy schedules made it nearly impossible. The line began to ring as I walked home, and as soon as he picked up I began my speech:

"Hello?" I paused, waiting for him to reply and then continuing when he didn't, "Hey, I know it's been...I don't know, anyway," still no answer, "Derek?"

"Ummm, hi," a strange, feminine voice answered.

"You're not Derek?" I had a feeling I would strike out with this question.

"Um, no," she paused for a second, "this is his girlfriend." I could not think of a time when he had a girlfriend-at least not one that would answer his phone.

"Girlfriend?" twice in one day, I was at a loss for words. Then I remembered that I was following a higher purpose, "Well, then, is Derek available?"

"No, he isn't, sorry."

"Can you let him know that I called-this is Keeva."

"I guess," she sounded upset.

"Thank you," I finished weirdly. The conversation was getting even more awkward.

"Okay, bye then." she said. We both hung up.

I kept walking. I couldn't fight the nagging feeling that I was never going to hear from Derek Morgan. That I had just lost my final chance. I should have pleaded with her. I'm not the Other Woman, I should have said. Not this time and not with Derek. And, suddenly, I felt the pain of it all again-right there, on the street. We had spent the day together in bed, hours of white sheets and laughter. We only got up to take Dexter to the park and to call for take out. His ringless hand holding mine, the perfect fit.

I stopped walking. Stopped thinking. I couldn't do this now. I needed to get home and hug Dexter. Luckily, my phone rang. I didn't even bother looking at who it was, maybe a telemarketer could distract me.

"Hey! It's Trevor," he yelled at me through the phone, over the noise of people and clinking glasses.

"Hello," Trevor was better than a telemarketer.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing that a little bit of red wine won't fix, what's up?"

"Oh, good!" he paused as something distracted him, and then he laughed, "I wasn't sure what time you would get off work today, and you didn't answer my texts," he chastised me.

"I'm glad you called," I said in lieu of sorry.

"I am too, Kee," he paused again as something interesting happened, the background noise was intense, "well, we'd love for you to join us. We're going dancing later, and you sound like you need it, sweets."

"That sounds like just what this doctor ordered," a distraction for the day would probably help, "I just need to run home."

"I'll send you the details," said Trevor, "See you soon."

"Okay, bye."


	4. Chapter 4

_4\. Eternal Sunshine of a Tequila-soaked Mind_

An anxious shuffle awaited me, only getting more excited as I fumbled with jangling keys. With a final clunk of the lock, I paused. I knew who was waiting for me on the other side of the door. And when finally the door opened, Dexter's wagging tail greeted me as a he spun around in excited circles.

"Hey, buddy!" I said happily, as I dropped my purse and keys on the entry table and knelt to the floor. "Are you ready for a walk?" And with that magic word, he bounded away, toward the laundry room where I kept his leash, "I just need to change, okay Dex?" I took his happy click-clacks against the wood flooring as agreement.

Climbing a flight of stairs to my bedroom, I changed from trousers, blouse, and kitten heels to joggers, sweatshirt, and running shoes. Instead of going back downstairs, I walked into my office and closed the door to stare at my wall of horror. Maybe this time I would see something new and different. But, like every time I stared at the wall, nothing new grabbed me. The images were already seared to the backs of my eyelids, flashing each time I blinked. The prints taped against the wall were a form of self-flagellation, but instead of purification of soul I only felt the dirty imprints of tiny dead fingers reminding me that I was not doing enough to stop the senselessness of it all.

I tore my eyes away and walked back out, slamming the door behind me for good measure. Like every other time I had looked at the photos, the acid reflux made me feel as if there was something I was missing; if only I looked one more time, I would see the connection. With a final shudder, I made my way back downstairs. Life was waiting for me there, the dead would have to remain silent for another sleepless night.

With Dexter leading the way, we walked toward Golden Gate Park. It was the perfect retreat from Thursday evening activities in the Haight. Far enough in, and you could almost forget the bar hopping and endless traffic. Dexter pulling on his lead and the trees and the breezer were all the existed in that moment.

"I think my feet are going to fall off," I shouted to Trevor over the thumping bass. He just smiled and nodded. I knew he couldn't hear me, but I didn't care. The tequila and the music felt too good to care.

When we finally left the club, we stopped at a bodega to grab band-aids for the blisters on my feet and aspirin for my impending headache. I could not for the life of me remember just how much of either lay waiting in my medicine cabinet. Very bad doctor.

Bodega haul in hand, I unlocked the door to find Dexter patiently waiting for me. Who needed a man, anyway? I kicked my heels off at the door and let Dexter out into the small garden patio.

"Sorry buddy," I apologized to his sulking form as he did his business in what was really a glorified closet worth of greenspace. I left the door open for him so that I could refill his water dish as well as put water in the kettle to make tea for myself. The sounds of Dexter drinking water reminded me to close and lock the door before grabbing my tea and heading upstairs.

Freshly showered and in pajamas, I was forced to go back downstairs. I had forgotten my band-aids on the kitchen table. After checking my medicine cabinet, I was glad that we had stopped at the bodega: I only had expired aspirin, butterfly bandaids, and bandages the size of my face. I sat down to stick bandages and ointment over the fresh blisters, and that's when it struck me. With the band-aid package half opened, I bolted up from my chair. This was it. This was the connection I was missing.

I grabbed the trench coat off a hook in my laundry room and the running shoes that were carelessly taken off earlier. From the dryer, I pulled out a pair of socks. It seemed fortuitous that I had been too lazy to take my clothes out earlier. My purse and keys waited for me at the entry table. Before I left, Dexter just stared at me. I wanted to take him with me, but the owner of the korean market down the street from me had already yelled at me this week for taking my dog into the store. I scratched his ear before I left.

I ran down the street toward the store. Nothing mattered anymore. And when I finally reached the store, I didn't stop-I ran toward the band aid aisle. There it was. It had been staring at me the whole time. Each of the girls had been wearing band-aids. But they were young, scrapes and bruises happen all the time. Kids hurt themselves all of the time, and parents the world cover the small wounds with band-aids. But each of the girls had band-aids from the same variety pack. I carried the pack with me to the front counter and paid Mr. Park.

Outside the store, I walked slowly back home toying with the idea of calling Ben. It was a shaky lead, but I knew that this was the connection that I had been missing. Even as I made to reach toward my purse, there was a noise behind me. Something hit the back of my head and my world turned black.


End file.
